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  Instead he held her still, seeming to wait until her breathing slowed fractionally, and her legs stopped trembling. Then he pushed the chair beside him aside and stepped back slightly, holding her shoulders to keep her where she was.

  “So rumpled,” he murmured, pulling down her petticoats and skirt, arranging them so they fell as they should. “Not at all how a responsible woman such as yourself should look.”

  Jane wanted to sob at feeling the trappings of her life fall around her once more, but held still, blinking back tears of mingled sorrow and rage. How soon the world intruded. How abruptly he retreated, leaving her lost, no longer who she had fought to become—the woman she had felt emerging not yet fully brought forth. He hadn’t even taken his own pleasure, a matter that stung her heart, although the why of it would have to be considered later. All she knew at this moment, as his hands fluffed her skirt, his palms smoothed the wrinkles, was that she ached in a way she never had before.

  Chapter Five

  When he was apparently satisfied he had put her clothing to rights, Sergio guided her to turn, and Jane raised her gaze to meet his. His lips smiled—a small, secretive tip of his lips—but his eyes burned with the type of possessive lust Jane had always dreamed of and had never been the recipient of.

  “Sergio.” His name whispered from between her lips like a prayer, and his smile faded, his face becoming tight and demanding. A shudder of longing, so intense as to be painful, weakened her legs anew, and she could only once more plead, “Sergio.”

  “Yes,” he responded, as though he knew the answer to every question she may ever ask. “Yes, cara mia.”

  Then that mouth, so beautifully firm, so masterful, was on hers and Jane forgot all her fears and pain beneath its onslaught. There was the taste of her own passion on his lips, mingled with the slightly bitter tang of tea and an underlying essence that was purely, divinely him.

  He kissed the breath from her, stole her soul with the thrust and twist of his tongue, brought her entire being back to sparking, ravenous life. Lifting her arms to twine them about his neck, Jane thrust her fingers into his hair, as she had wanted to from the first moment she saw the luxurious curls. Sergio bowed her back over his arm, the hand cradling her cheek tilting her face into the perfect position so his mouth could ravish hers. When his lips slid slightly to the side, Jane took the opportunity to turn her face so she could lick her juices from his chin. It was instinctual, and she was unable to help herself, somehow unafraid to show him the wanton nature that existed just beneath the staid exterior she showed the world.

  The sound he made, half growl, half groan, made her smile just a little.

  “Naughty Jane.” His accent was thicker yet, the exotic sound thrilling to her ears. “Let me give you something else to do with that beautiful, wicked mouth.”

  Lowering her into the chair, he stood over her, letting her watch as he fisted his fingers around his cock, stroking its length. Saliva spurt into her mouth to see the hardness of it, the sheen of liquid on the bulbous head, the strong veins bulging just beneath the skin.

  “Yes,” she sighed. “Oh yes.”

  “Yes, what, Jane?”

  “Yes.” She raised her gaze to his, loving his control—of himself and of her. “Yes, let me taste you. Please.”

  He stepped closer so his legs touched hers, but when she started to lean forward, he stopped her with no more than a lift of his other hand. She subsided back in the seat, even as inside she strained toward him in desperation.

  “Lift your chin.”

  She complied, tilting her chin up an inch or so.

  “Higher.”

  Again she did his bidding so that when he stepped forward, straddling her knees, she was looking up into his face, into those hypnotizing, bespelling eyes.

  “Stay just as you are, Jane, until I tell you to move.”

  There was no need to reply. They both know she would do as he said—and gladly—trusting him to give them both the ultimate enjoyment.

  Using one hand, he bent his phallus down so it angled to her mouth. The tip of his cock brushed her lips, sliding back and forth, hot and silken. For several long moments, he teased her, allowing her head to be filled with his scent and the memory of his taste but withholding from her what she really craved. Closing her eyes, she savored each sensation, every brief touch and instant of contact.

  “Open your mouth, just a little.”

  When she did, he pressed forward slightly, then drew back, her mouth clinging to his prick, the tender inner flesh of her lips reluctant to let him go. The movement foreshadowed what was to come, letting her anticipate when he would take her mouth completely—what it might feel like for him to tease her cunt in just the same way.

  “If you behave for me, the next time I will let you do as you will with my cock. I will let you touch and kiss it however you like. Would you like that, Jane?”

  She moaned, nodded slightly, not wanting to lose one instant of contact with the heated flesh so sinfully tormenting her mouth.

  “Wider.”

  Making an O with her lips, she kept her teeth well out of the way, her tongue tingling with the craving to lap at his salty flesh, learn the stiff and rounded contours of his member. Yet she held still, little gasps of pleasure rising in her throat as he thrust deeper and the head of his cock caressed her palate in a slow, controlled slide.

  “How hot your mouth is, cara.” He came closer, lifting one leg over the arm of the chair, bracing his free hand on the back, behind her shoulder. “How perfect.”

  He was almost all the way in on the next thrust, still moving slowly, fucking her mouth with delicious, long movements that drove her wild with lust. She squeezed her thighs together, easily imagining how wondrous it would be if his cock were between her legs instead, yet loving every minute of what he was doing, never wanting it to end.

  His breath became raspy, his movement losing some of the languid control he’d maintained for so long. Jane gloried in the sound, in the sensation of his cock pushing farther into her mouth, the increasing speed with which it plunged to the back of her throat.

  “Suck me, Jane.”

  Raw and guttural, his words were more plea than demand. They drove through her, a sudden, heady affirmation he was not the only one who held power.

  And, oh, she wielded her power not only with all the skill she possessed but with all the joy in her racing heart.

  Closing around him, she lashed at him with her tongue, milked his length with the hollowing of her cheeks, tilted her face up and down with each thrust so the head of his cock rubbed the roof of her mouth. Sergio groaned, cursed, called her “cara mia” and “sweet Jane”, until the words faded into unintelligible sounds of such complete bliss she found herself longing to lose herself in them. She could drown in those harsh growls and rushed gasps, so they were the last sound she heard on this earth and knew from them she pleased him completely, fully.

  He pushed deep, held there. He was shuddering, and the base of his cock, lodged between her lips, pulsed once, twice. Then he pulled back just an inch, thrust once more and came.

  Moaning with delight, she drank him in, her mouth filling with his seed as his hips jerked, and he spurt over and over, as though never to stop. Finally, he went still, and, with indolent satisfaction, she licked him clean.

  Still braced on the chair, for a few long minutes he didn’t move, and Jane was suddenly aware of how he caged her in, surrounding her with his strength. It would be too easy to accustom herself to being so entrapped, she thought, as he sighed and finally moved back, his softening prick slowly slipping from between her lips. Far too easy. And far too dangerous to her heart.

  These moments, so special and thrilling, were just stolen. She reminded herself of that, knew no matter what came next, whether he should speak sweet words or treat her like the wanton she was, she would treasure the memory of this day.

  But that was no reason to lose her head, or lose sight of the path she was determined to f
ollow. Sergio Fontini was not hers. He never could or would be. Allowing herself to relish, even for a moment, the sensation of being his, was foolhardy at best.

  He was tucking his member away, rearranging his clothing, but his gaze remained fixed on her face, and Jane met it boldly, without flinching. Expecting anything and nothing.

  Yet there was a part of her hoping he wouldn’t apologize, or become cold and judgmental. Young men—old ones too, for that matter—could romp where they would with impunity. Women, no matter their age or station, were regarded as little better than whores if they loosely gave their favors. It was one of the many hypocrisies of their world, and she had nothing but disdain for the men who felt free to plant their pricks wherever they desired, yet expected women to remain at home, unsatisfied.

  She would like to think better of this particular man but knew not to raise her hopes.

  Instead she drew around her the cloak of cool calm she had so laboriously created over the years. As he tugged at his waistcoat, patted the waist of his trousers to ensure he was put to rights, she raised her eyebrows slightly and said, “Your hair, signor.” Lifting an arm that felt too boneless to truly be of use, trying to control the tiny tremors still firing through her muscles, she swept her hand above the back of her head in illustration. “Just there…”

  He mirrored her movement, finding the tuft of curls she’d disarranged and smoothing them back into place, but his concentrated focus never left her face.

  “Thank you,” he murmured. “Sweet Jane.”

  Immediately heat flooded her face, and her traitorous heart leapt. Taking a breath, she attempted to maintain her composure, but Sergio would not allow it.

  “Delicious Jane.”

  “Signor…”

  “Jane who just had my tongue on her cunt, who let me fuck her mouth so beautifully I thought I would die as I spent.”

  Now she wanted to look away, break the spell he put on her so effortlessly, but couldn’t. Those eyes, so dark and filled with an enticing mixture of laughter and lust, wouldn’t let her go.

  With habitual grace, he suddenly stooped once more before her chair, his hands on the arms, his broad chest and strong arms hemming her in as he had before. There was no more amusement in his eyes. All she saw in those black depths was the same commanding, arousing gleam she had been unable to resist before.

  “Think of me, Jane, as you go about your duties with your arse exposed, your drawers torn by my hands. Remember the moment I refused to allow them to hide your beauty from me and know I will not allow you to hide any of yourself from me again.”

  Before she could find words to reply, he leaned in and kissed her, his lips demanding her acquiescence, stealing her breath, drawing a low sound of resurging need from her throat. Whatever she may have wanted to say fled her mind, and all she could do was grasp his shoulders, hold on as he ravished her senses all over again.

  Then he pulled back to trace a warm, wet line across her lower lip with his tongue. When he spoke, Jane instinctively inhaled, taking his breath into her lungs, wanting one more part of him to hold on to. “I see you, Jane Rollins. I will always see you as you are.”

  He rose and stepped away to pick up the cup and saucer he had left on the floor. After depositing it on the table beside her, he crossed to the ewer and bowl on the little dresser and washed his hands and face.

  All this Jane watched, still shaken by his words, the tone in which they were delivered. They spoke of a continued association, of the future—something she dare not dwell on. Not if she valued herself and her life as it was.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to say that, to tell him what had begun today couldn’t continue. She should. God knew she should, but the words wouldn’t come.

  He dried his hands and face, neatly refolding the towel and placing it over its hook before turning to face her again.

  “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Rollins.” There was no mistaking the timbre of his voice. It was a caress—intimate and filled with promise. “I will see you on Tuesday next, when I hope your hospitality will be as”—his voice trailed away, and his eyelids lowered—“warm.”

  Then he crossed the room, slipped through the doorway and was gone.

  For a long few minutes, she didn’t move, her eyes still trained upon the door, her breath gradually slowing, her thoughts untangling themselves, becoming more coherent.

  In four days, Sergio Fontini would be back.

  He would want to do again what they had done today—perhaps finally he would take her the way she so desperately wanted him to.

  Jane’s breath hitched, and she put her hands up to cover her once more burning cheeks, trying not to imagine it. But it was impossible not to think of, or not to remember his possessiveness and demands, the way he made her burn with need and then sated her desires. Even before they’d come together in this afternoon of sheer delight, she’d dreamt of being with him. How would she survive the coming days, guard this newest secret from those around her, go on as she always did?

  Yet, wasn’t she already a consummate liar? Hadn’t she fooled Mrs. Lowell, the rest of the Lowell family and even those below stairs, who saw her most, interacted with her daily?

  Taking a deep breath, she rose, lifted her chin. It was the work of only a few minutes to ensure her dress was straight, to smooth back the tendrils of hair that had escaped her bun and pin them into place. Looking at herself in the mirror, she could see her lips looked soft and swollen, so she pulled them into a firm line.

  She had willed herself into her present good fortune, using her wits and the ability to disguise not only her physical but also her emotional self. Just because Sergio had seen through not only the padding but also the façade she’d erected, it was not the time to lose sight of what was at stake and risk destroying the life she’d built.

  Sergio Fontini was no knight from one of the storybooks Mrs. Hayes had used to teach Jane how to read. He was just a man. A beautiful, arousing man, yes. A man who had transported her to a place of such intense physical pleasure that even now her legs trembled slightly in the aftermath. A man who made her feel more in the course of one short afternoon tryst than she had felt in all the years of her life before. But there would be no heroic rescuing of the maiden from the evil that had befallen her. For Jane was neither maiden nor princess. Just a woman with an ordinary, good life, without need of a knight even if he were to have aspirations to be one. Just a woman who had caught his attention, aroused his curiosity and, once he had slaked whatever desires she aroused, would be put aside.

  That was, when it was all said and done, acceptable to her. There were memories to be made and stored for the long, potentially lonely years ahead.

  Another boon from Providence, when viewed in the proper light. She would never have dreamed she would have as much of him as she already had.

  With another deep breath, a last look in the mirror, she opened the door and stepped out.

  In four days, she would see him again, but, in the meantime, she was once again Mrs. Rollins, housekeeper, and, as she walked toward the kitchen, she determinedly left Sweet Jane, Sergio Fontini’s professed cara mia, behind.

  Chapter Six

  No matter how old a man gets, Sergio thought, he is but a child in a controlling father’s eyes. From the moment he’d walked into the parlor of his parents’ small townhouse, he was aware of being the focus of his father’s brooding stare. Now, as the family sat around the dining table, enjoying one of Mama’s delicious meals, there was a sudden lull in conversation, and his father seized the opportunity.

  “This foolishness, giving dance lessons, needs to stop.” Ennio Fontini stabbed his fork in Sergio’s direction. “It is time to do something worthwhile with your life and talents.”

  By that, of course, he meant devoting all his time to the family business. It meant nothing to his father that Sergio was doing well, making enough to keep himself very comfortably supported. In fact, knowing that probably drove the older man’s anger. He
would have liked for Sergio to fail and have to come back, both to the family home and to the business.

  He had broken with tradition when he got his own rooms, began spending less time in the workshop of the jewelry store his father owned. While they specialized in cameos, intaglios and other fine pieces imported from Italy, Ennio had discovered early that Sergio had an eye for design. While Sergio’s older brother, Marco, helped with customers and kept the books, and the youngest, Nico, travelled with his father, learning about gems and the acquisition of the jewelry they sold, Sergio was supposed to remain trapped in the workshop.

  That had not suited him at all, on many levels.

  “I take care of myself, Papa.” He said it calmly, looking his father in the eye, hoping to put an end to the discussion before the quiet Friday-night family dinner turned into one of his father’s tirades. Poor Sophia, Marco’s young wife, already looked terrified, and Papa hadn’t even raised his voice—much.

  “But you do nothing for the family.” Ennio glared back at him, black eyes flashing. “You think only of yourself.”

  “Papa—” Marco tried to interject, but Sergio sent him a swift, quelling glance. There was no need for his older brother to try to protect him and perhaps draw some of their father’s ire. When the older man lost his temper, there was no telling what he might say. Marco and Sophia had only been married half a year, and already Ennio was wondering aloud why he had no grandchildren on the way.

  “Family is everything.” Ennio ignored his eldest son, his focus fixed unwaveringly on Sergio. “Yet you treat us with no consideration. No respect. You move away as though we are not to your liking. Refuse to contribute to our well-being. Sometimes I think you would be rid of us completely if you could.”

  Too far. That was too far by half. Sergio felt his temper rising but tamped it down, unwilling to give his father the satisfaction of making him lose control.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Papa.” Sergio glanced down the table at his mother, caught her glaring at his father. It was impossible not to feel a little flare of amusement, knowing Grazia Fontini would give her husband what-for some time in the very near future. He turned back to meet Ennio’s furious gaze again. “I hope you know that is not true.”